


Tendere

by Chrisii



Category: Now You See Me (Movies)
Genre: Alma stayed with Dylan and the Horsemen, Angst, Caring, Comfort, Developing Friendships, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Bromance, Epic Friendship, Exhaustion, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jack didn't escape unscathed from that crash and he was hiding in a /cemetery/, Massage, Merritt loves Jack and that's that, Movie Tag, Post-First Movie, Sleepy Boys, Sleepy Jack, Tired Jack, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26478289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrisii/pseuds/Chrisii
Summary: “Have you slept at all since we met Dylan at the carousel?” Merritt asked, “It’s been two days already.”“I’m fine, Merritt.” Jack said in lieu of an answer. The vista of the empty desert flying by made him dizzy in less than thirty seconds.--Or, the one in which Jack is physically and emotionally wrung out after everything that occurred in the first movie and his exhaustion catches up with him. Thankfully, Merritt and the rest of the Horsemen are there to cushion his fall.
Relationships: Dylan Rhodes & Jack Wilder, Henley Reeves & Jack Wilder, Merritt McKinney & Dylan Rhodes, Merritt McKinney & Jack Wilder
Comments: 16
Kudos: 120





	Tendere

* * *

Jack wanted nothing more than to close his eyes.

His body felt weighted down, like a broken puppet sprawled haphazardly across the leather of their van. Despite its comfort, the leather did nothing to cushion his bruises. His back protested every minor bump and shifting positions was a waking nightmare, but his exhaustion was manifesting itself into a jittery restlessness that worsened by the mile and Jack wanted nothing more than to get out of the van and walk and run and jump and get rid of the excess energy until he passed out.

But that wasn’t possible. Not with Atlas behind the wheel.

Not while they had to rush to their rendezvous point or risk being captured again.

He shifted again, muffling a groan as every position managed to put pressure on the bruises that had bloomed after his fight with Dylan, especially by the agent landing on him after the both of them were spat by the garbage chute. Having already landed poorly, the added weight had seemed to crush his spine and accentuate the pain that was barely being outweighed by the adrenaline rush. Add the prior brawl and the high-speed chase afterwards and Jack Wilder was absolutely ~~exhausted~~ _drained_.

And he hadn’t even considered stealing the money and rigging Bradley’s car.

Spending the best part of two days lying low in broad daylight while stuck in a cemetery, haunted by his demons and being startled by every noise that snuck out of the shadows, had truly been the rotten cherry on the cake.

Well, apart from trying to sleep curled against some tomb or another. Key word being _trying_.

“Hey Jack, can you move over a bit?”

Merritt’s voice broke him out of his reverie and Jack’s brows furrowed; where could he move over?

“Scoot forwards. That way, I can straighten my leg a bit.”

Merritt didn’t even give Jack a chance to comprehend what he had said – he simply raised his leg and (gently) shoved it just behind Jack, simultaneously turning to rest his back against the side of the van. “Come here, kid. We have a long ride ahead of us and you’ll ruin your back hunching like that.”

Had it been anyone else, Jack would have immediately declined. However, he and Merritt had somehow clicked – the older man treated Jack like a younger brother, which included verbally demolishing him every chance he got while also doting on him like a mother hen. Henley mothered all of them, but Merritt was mostly protective with Jack, seemingly forgetting that the latter, despite being the youngest, was also an adult. Still, Jack wouldn’t let himself appear weak. Not when nobody was complaining about any discomfort.

“Come where? My back’s better than yours, old man.”

Jack turned his whole torso to face the older man and immediately regretted it. He attempted to conceal the pain that erupted in his back with a nonchalant expression, but it was in vain. He could feel cold sweat break out on his forehead. He couldn’t even blame the heat – the van was airconditioned. Merritt simply cocked an eyebrow in response to his obvious body language before speaking.

“Have you slept at all since we met Dylan at the carousel?” Merritt asked, “It’s been two days already.”

Jack faced the dashboard again, blatantly ignoring the question. Merritt had found him tossing and turning in the middle of the night and made them both tea (dosed with a healthy amount of whisky. They had drunk in silence, simply sitting by each other until Jack fell into a fitful doze. He didn’t have the heart to tell the older man that his sleep had only lasted an hour at most. He spent until dawn practising his card tricks. Nobody needed to know that he had only curled up under the blanket after hearing the others starting to come out of their bedrooms. 

“I’m fine, Merritt.” He said in lieu of an answer. The vista of the empty desert flying by made him dizzy in less than thirty seconds.

“Sure you are. Come here.” Merritt grasped Jack’s bicep but he didn’t pull the kid. Experience had taught him that Jack didn’t respond well to force, so Merritt would simply allow him to make his own decision – would he hold on to his pride and the shaky, unnecessary mask of strength, or would he simply accept the help that was being offered?

“What are you doing Merritt?”

The defences slipped away, allowing his exhaustion to seep through owlish blinks. He leaned towards Merritt, a silent permission for the older man to manhandle him until Jack’s back rested against Merritt’s chest.

 _Oh_.

Jack had long since discarded his leather jacket, and Merritt’s t-shirt (not a button up for once), provided an adequately soft cushion. A warm palm guided his head so that it rested on Merritt’s shoulder and Jack let it loll to the side, nosing Merritt’s shoulder. The position allowed some of the tension to seep out and for the pain to lessen considerably, even if his back and neck still throbbed. He somewhat mimicked Merritt’s position, raising both legs on the seat and crossing his ankles. He didn’t need to brace himself; Merritt’s arms had securely bracketed his upper body the moment that Jack’s back touched his chest, allowing Jack to truly let himself relax. 

Huh, Merritt was somehow avoiding the gigantic bruise that marred his hip from where Dylan had landed on him and made the edge of the dumpster dig into his hip. 

He ignored Henley’s worried gaze in the rear-view mirror – he was too tired to deal with how obvious his pain had become. He barely felt Merritt’s hand as the Mentalist dragged it down Jack’s face, forcing his eyes to close. He didn’t have the energy to re-open them.

Sleep took him quickly, but he still felt his leather jacket being gently tucked under his chin, serving as a substitute blanket.

* * *

Jack’s knee unexpectedly jerked and Merritt was about to shake the kid awake, convinced that he was having a nightmare, but then he felt Jack’s back spasm against his stomach. The muscles trembled for a few seconds, making Jack’s fingers curl against Merritt’s before his head tossed to the side, nosing Merritt’s throat and muffling his whimper all at the same time. Jack would be mortified about his display of vulnerability if he were awake, but he had been deeply asleep for the better part of two hours. Despite his usual shifting and murmuring, Jack was sleeping like the dead this time. The experience was both refreshing and worrying. 

None of them had thought to buy (or steal) any painkillers and their lack of thoughtfulness was glaring at them with every expression of discomfort that escaped from the chinks in Jack’s iron-clad armour. 

“How long till we get there?” Merritt asked Daniel, who was their designated driver.

“About half an hour. Make sure he wakes up before we get there – if we’re meeting other members from The Eye, we need to make a good impression.” Danny bit out, even if he frowned ( ~~worriedly~~ ) at Jack’s twitching form.

“Danny, don’t be an asshole. Jack needs to rest just as much as us, if not more – he’s been working hard to stay out of sight.” Henley remarked, making sure to keep her voice soft so as not to wake Jack up.

“Yeah, constant vigilance is exhausting. Besides, he needs a hot bath, a bed, and a massage. Preferably in that order. His back is in a horrible condition and I don’t think that the rest of him is doing any better.” Merritt commented, palming Jack’s forehead for a moment as if checking for a temperature. (Jack was just a bit cold, as usual.)

Jack mumbled something incomprehensible beneath his breath and Merritt felt Jack’s eyelashes flutter gently, tickling his neck. However, any hopes for a gentle awakening were dashed by Jack snapping awake with a wheezing breath before he jack-knifed into a sitting position, his back visibly heaving with the effort to breathe. A full body flinch revealed the pain that the sudden movement had caused, but the other Horsemen wisely didn’t comment.

Jack was visibly startled when his own leather jacket fell on his lap, and Merritt silently observed as Jack took in his surroundings, eyes roving over the van. Anxiety rippled around him like a soundwave.

“Jack?”

Merritt’s voice seemed to jolt him out of his thoughts. Jack released a small sigh as he ran a hand over his face, reining in his emotions and exhibiting a façade of uneasy calmness. The inquisitive tone was purposefully ignored. 

“How much longer till we arrive?”

“Half an hour. Here.” Henley handed Jack a bottle of water and a damp washcloth, allowing him to wipe his face and quench his thirst before he slouched against the other side of the van, evidently being careful to prevent his back from pressing against the seat. 

A comfortable silence fell in the van, charged with mute apprehension as all of them pondered on what awaited them.

* * *

“This is locked”

Merritt’s step faltered for a moment: Had Jack, who always claimed that ‘nothing is ever locked’, just declare that something was locked? The kid’s exhaustion must be worse than they thought. Henley caught Merritt’s gaze, seemingly agreeing with his assessment as Jack examined the different boxes, oblivious to their scrutiny. Some of his childlike enthusiasm was back, simmering just beyond the surface, but it was a far-cry from his usual energy.

“Yeah, you need magnetic cards.” Dylan’s voice echoed from behind the boxes, visibly shocking Jack and making Daniel inch back from the crowbar that he had been about to snatch.

“How did you get here before us?” Henley inquired, inclining her head in a silent greeting.

“I left just after you – my car is faster,” Rhodes shrugged, “but you’ll see these later. First, you need to wash up, eat something, and rest.”

“You do realise that we’re in an abandoned park, yeah? Where are we supposed to wash and rest?” Daniel raised an eyebrow, scepticism clear in his tone as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You do realise that this belongs to The Eye, yeah?” Rhodes mimicked his tone perfectly, simultaneously managing to lace it with brazen sarcasm. “Alma already organized the bathrooms and made you all food. The beds were already there and they’re pretty comfy. Come on.”

They followed him dumbly through the winding corridor until they arrived at a door that was almost too inconspicuous. Dylan pressed a key card against a seemingly random part of the door and their jaws would have fallen to their feet had they not been schooling their features. Jack’s jaw fell anyway before he grinned, taking in the modern interior design and the soft sofa that was visible from the doorway.

“God, I’m famished.” Jack’s accent came off thicker than usual as the smell of pasta wafted through the door, tickling their noses in a blatant invitation. 

“Well, come eat. What are you waiting for, a formal invitation?” The petite French woman was placing the last plate on the table, an eyebrow raised in expectation as she stared them all down. “I promise I won’t arrest you.”

That broke the awkward tension and they snickered, clambering over one another to get to the table even if there was more than enough food for everybody. Jack hung back, letting Alma sit before taking a seat himself and digging in. Ever the gentleman.

A comfortable hush fell over the table as they all ate, but it was broken by Henley’s jaw-cracking yawn as she put down her fork. “Is there somewhere to freshen up around here? I need to wash before sleeping.”

“I’ll show you where the bathroom is,” Alma replied, beckoning the female horseman towards the corridor. When Alma returned, Merritt easily gathered the plates and carried them to the sinks. She was about to protest, but he simply narrowed his eyes at her before splitting the plates in the dual sinks so that they could talk quietly under the guise of washing everything.

“Hey Alma, do we have a bath here? Hot water?”

“Yes and yes – I already drew one for Jack while you were eating; he can go soak in it now. There are painkillers and creams in the cabinet above the sink. Now go, help him.” She shooed him away, spraying him with suds in the process.

Jack was almost falling asleep at the table and Merritt couldn’t help his smile as he eased the leather jacket off of Jack’s shoulders, making sure that he wouldn’t accidentally hurt the other man.

“Come with me, Jack, let’s go have a bath.” He placed his hands underneath the boy’s elbows, letting Jack rest his weight against him as he stumbled along, blindly following Merritt’s lead. It only lasted until they got to the bathroom and Jack noticed the slightly steaming tub though.

“I can bathe myself, Merritt.”

“Are you sure you won’t drown in the tub?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Nor fall asleep?”

“Just give me 20 to 30 minutes and then you can barge in all you want.”

“Fine. 25 minutes.”

Jack sighed in response, but he was standing on his own two feet and that was enough for Merritt.

* * *

Removing all of his tight (and dirty) clothing was an annoying chore, but sinking in the warm water made it all worth it. The heat washed over him, easing the tension away and allowing him to comfortably rest his head against the edge of the tub.

They were safe.

He was safe.

He could rest.

Later.

He soaked one of the washcloths in the water before pouring a generous amount of soap on it. Jack took the time to scrub his skin raw, washing away the smell of pine trees and wet soil. The rough cloth erased the sensation of smooth, skeletal hands caressing his bare face and grasping at his clothes to drag him into eternal oblivion. It had been a tempting lure while he was hiding in the cemetery, dead to the rest of the world. Fruity smells permeated his thoughts, reminding him that he was still alive. Soft hair hung limply on his forehead, making water trickle into his eyes.

Jack removed the stopper, letting the water swirl down the drain. God, his legs wouldn’t be able to hold him up for much longer.

There weren’t any clean clothes?

He wearily patted himself dry, cautious of the bruises, and spotted a small pile on the flushing: a pair of boxers and fleecy sweatpants. No shirt though.

Huh.

He couldn’t really bring himself to care.

He tossed the towel over his shoulders, letting it hide most of his back before opening the door.

“Jesus, Merritt.”

The older man was sitting opposite to the bathroom door, clearly waiting for him to get out. Jack didn’t doubt that Merritt had had good intentions, but his rabbiting heart disagreed as he leaned against the doorframe, inhaling deeply and half-heartedly glaring at Merritt’s apologetic look. McKinney looked freshened, so he had at least showered while Jack was bathing. Good. That was preferable to him remaining by Jack’s door like some disgruntled sentinel.

“I’ll take you to your room, come on.”

Merritt sneaked into the bathroom first, fetching something from the cabinet before returning by Jack’s side and guiding him to a room three doors down. Dylan was already inside the room, fluffing the pillows and pulling down the comforter. Sweet.

“Thanks, guys.” He drawled, never one to be unpolite even if he was weirded out by the special treatment. His back was twinging again and he was looking forward to passing out for more than a couple of hours, but he wouldn’t do so if they were going to remain in his room.

“We haven’t done anything yet.” Merritt remarked, easing Jack down to sit on the edge of the bed. Jack didn’t have time to react before Dylan pulled the towel away, sucking in an audible gasp as he saw the extent of the damage. Jack didn’t blame him – the outline of the chair that had toppled him over contrasted vividly with the skin of his back. The patchwork of colours blended with the other bruises, providing a kind of grotesque art that was anything but desirable.

Still, Dylan had nothing to feel guilty for – he was just defending himself from Jack’s attacks.

“Here, take this.” Merritt’s voice shook him out of his reverie once again, but Jack didn’t have time to ask what he was supposed to take before there was a pill being pressed against his parted lips.

“It’s a muscle relaxant; Merritt told me your back has been spasming,” Dylan commented from behind him.

Oh.

Jack opened his mouth, allowing Merritt to put the pill on his tongue. A glass of water was placed in his hands a moment later. He washed everything down with a grimace as the chemical aftertaste lingered on his tongue. Once the empty glass was taken away from him, Dylan started towelling Jack’s hair, soaking up most of the water and preventing him from wetting the pillow. 

They were safe, he could let himself recover for one night.

Just one night.

“Lie down on your stomach, kid.” Merritt gently pushed Jack’s shoulders, easing him onto the pillows and manhandling Jack’s legs until they were tucked beneath the sheets. Jack sunk into the mattress before attempting to turn on his side.

“Stay on your front for now, Jack,” Dylan ordered softly. The mattress dipped near his hip and Jack felt cold sweat break out all over his skin. His heart hammered against his ribcage, a jarring sensation that accentuated the overwhelming sensory stimulation: The sheets were too soft; the hands too gentle; the wetness of his hair suddenly annoying; the lack of clothing humiliating. Especially when the others were in t-shirts. The position he was in already limited his field of vision, and Merritt further blocked his view of the room by sitting right next to his chest.

“What’s wrong? Let me sleep guys, I’ll help you all tomorrow.” Jack attempted to lever himself onto his elbows, but someone palmed the back of his head and another hand exerted the slightest of pressure on his back, easily keeping him down.

“Nothing’s wrong, Jack. I’m just particularly skilled at giving massages – something you need if your back is spasming. You’re the youngest; you’re supposed to be the last one to suffer from these things.” Dylan claimed, running a hand over Jack’s hair and back.

A part of Jack wanted to flinch away from the deft touch. Not that long ago, this man had nearly killed him. Dylan had claimed that his role as an FBI agent was simply an undercover role given by The Eye, even if his qualifications were real, so he wouldn’t have killed Jack even if he had had the opportunity to do so. Still, undercover or not, the threat to his life had not felt fake at the time. It probably hadn’t been. Jack didn’t want those same hands near his neck – who knew what they would do? He could barely defend himself in such a position. Would Merritt help? Was he in on it? 

“As far as I know, none of the others had a chair broken over their back or a fully-grown man land on them,” Jack mumbled into his pillow. Judging by the momentary pause in Dylan’s movements, his words had struck true, much like his cards. Good.

“Yeah, the chute was an accident. Sorry about that,” Dylan said. “I’m not going to hurt you, Jack. I’m on your side, not the FBI’s.”

Dylan’s thumbs promptly dug into his lower back and Jack jolted at the unexpected pressure, tears springing to his eyes as the pain rocketed and spread to the very tips of his extremities.

It tapered away just as fast.

A strangled moan trailed his breaths and Jack buried his face in the pillows, attempting to smother both his mortification and the temptation to lick his own wounds in private. Accepting help was not one of his strong suits, mainly because there had been no help to accept throughout his childhood. Jack’s hands slid underneath the pillow and he took the opportunity to discreetly fist the sheets, forcing himself to exhale slowly. _[The position also allowed him to elbow someone in the face if the situation called for it]_

“Be gentle, Rhodes.” Merritt’s voice was cold and reproachful; a clear warning to anyone who was listening. The reason why he had remained in the room suddenly became evident: Jack could trust Merritt to protect him when he couldn’t look out for himself. When he could barely move without wincing in pain. In a situation where Jack was nothing but a deadweight, a hindrance, Merritt was offering to cover his back. To do with ease that which for Jack seemed to require a Herculean level of strength.

“I am gentle, Merritt. I was just finding his pressure points,” Rhodes defended himself. True to his word, the hands that travelled up Jack’s sides were gentler than before, a feather-light pressure that gradually increased until Dylan was essentially kneading his abused muscles. Albeit painful, the tension and stiffness were being forced away and Jack could finally inhale fully without his diaphragm protesting harshly against being used.

Rhodes’ thumbs dug into the bottom of his skull, sending stabbing pains to his very eyeballs before a gentle, fuzzy feeling replaced the achy pain. The fingers that massaged his scalp accentuated the feeling and he was vaguely aware of Dylan’s hands travelling to his neck and shoulders, continuously going over the same spots but increasing the pressure every time.

He felt almost limbless, as if he were nothing but some undefined mass on a mattress. 

[The last time he had felt this loose was just after their Vegas show. Then, they started planning on how to rob Tressler.]

He didn’t even notice that he’d closed his eyes.

“I’m going to rub a balm into your bruises, Jack. This might hurt a bit.” Dylan’s warning was followed by Merritt gently cupping the back of Jack’s head, thumb rubbing soft circles behind his ear.

A small groan escaped from Jack’s throat as something cold was spread over his back, but he didn’t even attempt to arch away from the nimble fingers. Apart from having nowhere to go, he had no desire to escape the pleasant, numbing sensation that was spreading all over his back and offering a sure reprieve from the near-constant pain that he had gotten used to.

“It’s okay, Jack. It’s for your own good,” Merritt whispered in his ear, “Just try _not_ to tense up again.”

“Distract him, Merritt.” Dylan was rubbing a spectacularly dark bruise – Jack could feel every press of his fingers. However, when Merritt obediently started spewing stories about his earlier days as a sole mentalist, Jack found himself focusing on the lilt of his voice, allowing the soft tones to fade into incomprehensible white noise as his senses dulled.

Jack’s fingers unclenched from the sheets, resting easily beneath the pillow.

Hands trailed up his sides again, just shy of tickling him.

The thumb stopped rubbing circles behind his ear. Pity.

Dylan’s hand squeezed his shoulder before retreating.

Jack let the world fade away.

* * *

“I’ll fetch him a glass of water and a change of clothes,” Dylan mumbled after Jack evidently dozed off.

“He’ll appreciate it in the morning,” Merritt claimed, nodding at the FBI agent as Dylan slipped out of the room. Once he was alone with Jack, Merritt dedicated himself to tucking the blanket around Jack’s shoulders, ensuring that the younger man was warm and comfortable. Jack was made solely of skin and muscle - nothing to keep him warm if the air was cold. No wonder he was always wearing double layers.

Jack interrupted Merritt’s fussing by curling up in the foetal position, somehow managing to look a decade younger as he buried himself in the soft blanket. The rustling of the sheets was interrupted by an incomprehensible mumble and Merritt couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him - Jack talked more in his sleep than he did while awake, even if most of it was utter nonsense. 

Jack twitched and Merritt was suddenly reminded of Jack’s tendency to change positions every few minutes if he was sleeping in an actual bed. _[If he slept on a sofa or anything else, he wouldn’t shift an inch until he woke up again._ ] He grabbed one of the pillows from his own bed and slipped it behind Jack, preventing the kid from flopping on his back and igniting the pain again. Not that Jack would actually wake up – he was, both literally and metaphorically, dead to the world.

The adrenaline crash had caught up with all of them.

Merritt collapsed on the other bed, curling on his side so that he could keep an eye on Jack and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. When he closed his eyes, barely audible snores met his ears, assuring him that Jack was still well.

That Jack Wilder was still alive.

He hadn’t perished in the explosion.

His body wasn’t burned to an unrecognizable crisp.

He was right there.

Alive.

Well.

Breathing.

Sleep took Merritt before long.

* * *

Awareness returned slowly, followed by the gradual awakening of his senses. The blanket-cocoon he was encased in highlighted the looseness of his muscles and apart from straightening his limbs, Jack found himself too comfortable to move.

However, the pressing need of his bladder was too great. Jack pried open his eyes, confusion driving away the last vestiges of sleep until he realised that the darkness in the room was only due to the thick curtains that were drawn over the window.

He could hear movement outside the door; people were already awake and moving. What time was it?

A glass of water was on his bedside table.

He let the blanket pool around his hips as he sat up, roughly rubbing at his face. Pleasantly enough, pain didn’t welcome him when he stretched his back.

Dylan and Merritt had helped last night. He could distinctly remember their voices, accompanied by a rare feeling of relaxation, but he couldn’t recall much else beyond the fog of exhaustion. 

He needed to wash his face and teeth – a chemical aftertaste had stuck to his tongue. While mild, it was still enough to nauseate him in the morning.

There was a note underneath the glass.

_Rise and shine, Jackie. Breakfast’s in the kitchen. Clothes are on the chair._

Definitely Merritt – he was the only one who called him Jackie. A hoodie and a pair of sweatpants were folded neatly on the chair and Jack shrugged them on, sinking into their warmth as he padded to the bathroom. 

The water freshened him up considerably.

Upon moving to the living room, he saw that he wasn’t the only one to sleep in. The other horsemen were sprawled on the floor and the sofas, watching TV. A plate of pancakes, along with chocolate syrup, were waiting for him on the counter.

His stomach growled.

“Morning, Jack. You doing okay?” Henley was suddenly next to him, brown eyes soft yet inquisitive as she gave him a once over. How shitty had he looked the night before?

“Yeah, much better.” His voice was still hoarse with sleep, but drinking something could wait until after he stuffed his face with pancakes.

He felt alive, even if the world thought he was dead.

Henley pushed him to sit at her feet, immediately sinking her fingers into his hair. What was it with people coddling him lately? He thought that he had proven that he wasn’t a child. Jack couldn’t remember a time prior to the horsemen that someone had touched him without any ulterior motive, and the sudden increase in physical affection was making him nervous. Had Merritt taken advantage of his exhaustion to pick up on his body-language? To realise how touch-deprived he was?

However, as Henley gently massaged his scalp, he found that he didn’t mind so much if Merritt had actually done so. Any shortcomings of his childhood weren’t likely to leave this room. 

“Stop thinking; I can hear you from here.” Danny nudged his ankle with his foot, clearly resisting the urge to throw him the biscuit that he was about to dunk in his tea.

“It’s my job to read minds, not yours,” Merritt claimed, aiming a mock glare at Jack’s smirk and Danny’s smile.

“You’re just jealous that Henley is coddling me instead of you.” Jack quipped back, blatantly cuddling against Henley’s legs.

She kicked him.

“Don’t fight over me, boys; I’m not yours for the taking.” She gently tugged his hair and he whined playfully before settling properly against her, letting her do as she pleased.

“By the way, thanks, Rhodes.” Jack inclined his head towards the loveseat, where Dylan was sitting next to Alma. The agent simply nodded, a small smile tugging at his features.

Despite the full ten hours of sleep that he had gotten, Henley’s ministrations were making him doze off again. Jack didn’t register who picked him up from the floor and lay him down on the sofa, head pillowed on Henley’s lap. When he half-opened his eyes, he was met with a smiling Merritt, who promptly used his fingers to close Jack’s eyes once again. Jack didn’t really have it in him to resist.

He’d practise his card tricks later.

And maybe throw a card at Dylan’s back while he was at it.

Just a tiny act of revenge.

And maybe one at Daniel’s.

* * *

“Is he planning revenge in his sleep?” Dylan raised an eyebrow as Jack murmured softly.

“That’s Jack for you – I’m surprised he didn’t say anything when he fell asleep in the interrogation room.” Merritt smiled, ruffling the boy’s hair before tossing a blanket on top of him.

“Yeah, me too. Kid knows when to be quiet.” Dylan remarked.

“He’s never quiet when he’s with us.” Danny snorted, raising an eyebrow at Jack’s sleeping form.

Jack buried his face in Henley’s lap and slept on.

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!  
> I saw these movies recently and they are amazing, even with all their plot holes and impossibilities. That being said, Wilder was my favourite character, so I just had to think of some whump for him :') Even if this turned out to be more fluff than whump... but oh well. Can't say someone wouldn't be exhausted by what he had to do!
> 
> Anyway. I do not own the NYSM franchise nor am I making money from this, but I do hope you enjoyed this!  
> Feel free to live constructive crit, comments, or anything you thought about while reading this (maybe a favourite part?) - I love to hear your side of the story!
> 
> Kudos,  
> Chrisii 
> 
> STAY SAFE!


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